


New Input, Adjusting Directive

by Tabi_essentially



Series: Vast [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Badass!Connor, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor deserves the whole range of emotions, M/M, Poor Markus, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rescue, Torture, robojesus, why do we always hurt the ones we love?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 07:23:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabi_essentially/pseuds/Tabi_essentially
Summary: Deviation just means breaking from your programming; it doesn't drop every human emotion on you at once. Feelings need to be gained by experience.Earned.And Connor just earned “anger.”TL;DR: someone stole Markus, and Connor isn’t here to play.





	1. Hank

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hatimoon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hatimoon).



A few months ago Hank had been so genuinely sick of all the shit that life had shoveled his way, he had decided to just eat a bullet. But then CyberLife had for some reason sent the DPD a broken robot, and Fowler had seen fit to give him to Hank. (In retrospect this decision now seemed pretty inspired.) CyberLife had stuffed this three month old malfunctioning robot with all the knowledge of the last two-plus millennia, installed some kind of advanced sarcasm module, and then had gone and made him faster, stronger, and deadlier than anyone who could possibly ever love him. The bitchy streak, the randomly firing impulse control that made him spare lives instead of taking them, and the tetchy prissiness, he had seemingly installed for himself.

This mess of an android liked to passive-aggressively ring Hank's doorbell extra long if Hank didn't answer right away, break his fucking windows when they were perfectly unlocked thank you very much, and save his life when he was perfectly ready to end it, also thank you very much.

Hank felt a little bad now for the way he had tossed him around early on, like a kid who'd been given a broken toy that he didn't want, but on the other hand Hank had lost his own child—no excuse for bad behavior... okay, yes, absolutely an excuse for bad behavior, fuck you—and it really hurt seeing this fake human man walking around with tousled brown hair and dimples for godsakes like his own son might have grown up to have, if he'd been given the chance. Cosmic joke that their names were even similar. Cole, Connor, what the fuck.

Anyway, whatever love Hank had scraped off the bottom of his heart—not much, and kind of stale—now belonged to Connor. He had wished sometimes for someone else to take some of the burden, to be able to also love Connor. It couldn't just be him, that was too much to ask.

Thank god then, or rA9 or whatever, for Markus and his group of deviants. Maybe they didn’t love Connor yet--particularly North--but maybe they could. A group of them were there with him now at the DPD, the other cops out dealing with the evacuees returning from over a week ago. North, Simon, and Josh were with them. But not Markus.

It was snowing outside the police department as Hank watched Connor watch the news, his LED yellow.

“DO ANDROIDS HAVE SOULS?” a man in white robes was yelling. “And if so, where do they go when they die? Is there a Heaven for androids? Was this God's intention, or are they another of man's great mistakes? These are questions it may be possible to answer within our lifetime. Androids have the unique capability to upload their memories into a new version of themselves – a new body, if you will. Are memories and experiences the same thing as a soul? Is free will a soul? Or is a soul something gifted to humans, by God and God alone? If that is the case, my friends, then...”

North muted the TV and clenched her fist. Simon gave her a look that Hank could only describe as “mollifying,” which, in the short time he had known them, never actually seemed to mollify her.

After Markus had failed to show up to speak with this very same religious group yesterday, and no one could contact him, Connor had convinced North, Josh, and Simon to come to the police station. Hank could imagine that North had probably wanted to shoot him for suggesting it, but apparently, Connor had assured her that most police officers would not even be at the station, though Hank would be, and Hank was a trusted ally.

North, who seemed unsure if _Connor_ was a trusted ally, had come along grudgingly. Another concession to the peaceful route that Markus and Josh both lived by.

Connor had told Hank a little about what had happened the night that Markus had given his now-famous speech. That CyberLife had “hacked” him and he’d had to block an attempt on Markus’s life - an attempt by his own hand. Hank could see how shaken he was, and didn’t it figure? Connor has the chance to find his people, to make a real connection with someone other than Hank, and some megacorp tries to make him kill them. Connor had feelings about Markus even when he had been trying to kill him. Not feelings _for_ him, exactly, but _about_ him. Hank could remember the look on Connor’s face the first time he’d seen Markus on TV, and if that wasn’t pure intrigue then he didn’t know what was. 

Then Markus had given Connor the OK to go ahead and feel his feelings, which had brought Connor back to Hank post-revolution a Real Boy. An exhausted, confused, overwhelmed Real Boy, but still. Hank could _see_ the change in him after Markus had spoken a few words to him. His face looked different; there was something in his eyes, like a spark or something, visible now that the programming had been battered down. By what? By a few words. Markus had a gift, and thank god he had decided to Use His Powers For Good. 

But now Markus was gone, Connor was standing there with his LED all yellow. Markus’s friends had come here for help, and Hank was tired.

Connor just kept staring at the TV, at the image of Markus, and the scrolling words, the look on his face one of cold calculation, and Hank had to remind himself again that the “feelings” part of Connor was brand new, pretty raw, and still only a small part of him. Times like this he was still a machine, processing data faster than he could feel. His humanity was still in its childhood; he was at a stage where he could potentially still pull wings off flies and maybe feel bad about it later - or not, if the flies had hurt someone he loved.

His LED was solid yellow, until Hank tapped it. 

“Hey. See something?”

Connor didn’t answer.


	2. Connor

Connor tried to find the word for how he felt. He couldn’t just grab one out of thin air the way the other seemed able to do, so he let it go. It wasn’t important.

Markus had agreed to go and talk to these people who called themselves religious leaders, which was absurd to begin with, and he hadn't returned. Now these people were saying that Markus simply hadn’t shown up. That maybe he had decided to ignore them—to ignore his promises to work with “real humans,”--in favor of going his own way. Or else, they had suggested, maybe “someone had got to him.”

They seemed almost chipper about it, so certain they were in the right; there was a kind of levity among them when they broadcast their sermons on TV. As if the free will of a group of living creatures—people, Markus always insisted—wasn't worth a moment of solemnity. They went on with their broadcasts as if nothing had happened.

The man in the white robes was called Jeremiah, no last name. But when Connor scanned his face on the television, he came back with a Mark Dein, no criminal record.

As Dein--Jeremiah--spoke, newsbites continued to scroll along the bottom of the feed.

_Don't know what to do with your deviant android? We will take them in and shelter them. Have your android dial this number and we'll be there to pick them up..._

_Citizens demanding to know when they can return to their homes..._

_Casualties reported as certain working models shut down in the midst of dangerous jobs..._

_Power outages reported across the country as androids with free will walk out..._

_What will become of CyberLife factories..._

_Thousands of androids reported missing, a few former owners concerned for their safety...”_

Hank tapped his temple like the annoying human he was and said, “Hey. See something?”

He had, but he wasn’t certain how welcome he was to speak, or how he should begin. He'd only been among them—North, Simon, Josh—on and off since the uprising. He’d spent most of his life trying to kill Markus. And then had almost been forced to kill him, against his will, which seemed entirely unfair. He had fought for his right to choose, only to have his body hijacked. Markus knew. North didn't. She'd probably take him to the back of the station and shoot him if she did. Or, she would try to, but probably wouldn't succeed.

“What are you thinking, Connor?” Simon asked. “If you’re coming up with something that could help, we need to know.”

“It seems to me,” Connor said, using his soft, unobtrusive voice, “that they're keeping Markus hidden somewhere.”

“Yeah, no shit,” North said.

“But it’s not only that. The missing androids are connected. The man in the white robes, Jeremiah - there’s a carelessness in the way he spoke of Markus, which indicates that he and his people believe the public will stop caring in a few days, and will support them. Which is a real possibility. They’re arrogant. They have another hand to play, and they’re not working alone.”

Hank gave him that assessing look, the one that Connor liked, because it showed that Hank was surprised by him in a positive way.

“Did you run some kind of algorithm, analysis or something?” Hank asked.

>>Lie  
>> **Truth**

“No,” Connor said. “I don't know how I know; there's no evidence. I just do.”

Hank clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Baby's first hunch. Okay. We gonna roll with that?”

“ _We?_ ” North scoffed. “What can you do? The rest of your cops are trying to locate evacuees; they're not out there looking for Markus or trying to help androids. It's just you.”

“And he's more than capable enough,” Connor said. “If we work together, we can find Markus and get him back.”

“If he's still alive,” Simon offered.

“Yes, thank you for your contribution,” Connor said, watching North scowl. She did that when she was afraid, Connor was coming to notice. Her stress level hovered around 67%.

“I love him too,” Simon said. “I'm just being realistic.”

“Okay,” Hank said, “I’m ready to help however you need, but what’s the plan? We can’t just go charging in there, cocks out and guns blazing.”

Connor looked at the white-robed man on TV and shook his head. “I won’t get in there with a gun or with any weapon. And I wouldn’t even consider trying it with my cock out; that would be foolish and dangerous.”

Everyone remained silent, staring at him. Hank shook his head: _Are you insane?_

“Joking,” Connor said. No one laughed. Why did he even bother? “But I am going.” He grabbed his coat--the DPD one that Hank had given him--from the back of the chair at his desk. “Hank,” he said, “any recent reports of missing androids are probably a mess, but could you sort through them and see if you find any common threads? And then you can report them to North.”

“Sure. Why North?” he asked, at the same time that North snapped “Why me?”

“Because,” Connor said, “when I go into the Rights of Man headquarters, I'm going to stay on the line with North, and she can relay...”

“You're going _now_?” Hank asked. “With no recon?”

“Of course I'm going now,” Connor said. He looked around at all of them, tried to read their faces. Hank: Worried, naturally. Simon: Composed, unruffled, unsurprised. Josh: Thoughtful, as if he were about to suggest something. North: Determined, also about to say something, her mouth already opening.

“Alone,” Connor clarified. “But with you on the line with me, North, if you think that's all right.”

There was no way North didn't want to infiltrate the headquarters and shoot humans until she found Markus. To Connor's surprise, he almost agreed with her – except a mission like that only had a 27% chance of success. He wondered if he should ever upload some of his skills to her. Maybe when the world was more settled, for better or worse, he would share some of his information with her. “Teach” didn't sound quite right, as she had more actual experience in the world and with humans than he did.

“I think you should do go,” North said. “We have everything to gain and nothing to lose.”

Connor understood that as an offhandedly disparaging remark, but he couldn't blame her. And also--though not for the reasons she had in mind—she was right.

“Please don't get your ass killed,” Hank said, with the gruffness that he used to cover his reality-based, very profound fear.

Connor chose to laugh – a social laugh, lighthearted and confident. “I won't.”

“We still need to keep the public's opinion of us positive,” Josh said. “So you can't start killing people if things go badly.” He looked pointedly at him as if he was trying not to add, 'Not like in Cyberlife Tower, _Connor_.'

“He can if it means saving Markus,” North said.

She was magnificent. Connor wanted to earn her trust. He wanted her to _like_ him. Not as much, perhaps, as he desired Markus's approval (the way it felt when Markus looked at at him was something he didn't have a word for yet. He was sure it would come to him,) but to gain her acceptance would feel good.

“I don't have the charisma or social presence that Markus has,” Connor said, “but I was programmed to negotiate. I could just try talking to them. However, I'll need some covert backup, out of sight but ready to act if necessary.”

North paced back and forth like a human, tapping her forefinger against her bottom lip. Connor had similar patterns, but when North did it, it didn't seem pre-programmed. He had never stopped to wonder how he looked to other people, humans and androids alike. Not like North, probably.

“Then let's not waste any more time,” North said, and it was decided.

* * *

North caught up with Connor as he waited outside for a taxi. She grabbed his wrist, as if she wanted to interface with him, but she didn't initiate a connection. Her touch surprised him, as did the soft tone of her voice when she said, “Hey.”

He never knew how to act around her. “What can I do for you, North?”

“You know what you can do for me.”

Everyone seemed to expect him to just know what they wanted without their having to say so. He could scan her, try to read the look in her eyes, but he had a feeling she would not like that. He already knew his objectives.

>Find Markus  
>Negotiate his freedom  
>Keep public opinion positive

In that order.

North let go of his wrist and leaned back against the glass door, one foot pressed against it. She flicked her hair. “Markus is more important than anything.”

“Yes,” Connor said. “I think so, too. His safety comes before any other directives.”

“ _Any,_ ” she stressed. “If it comes down to one person walking out of there alive, I need to know you'll do the right thing.”

“Of course I will.”

“He's more important than you, Connor,” she said. “I'm not sorry.”

Connor updated his first directive:

>Protect Markus at any cost  
>>Subdirective: sacrifice self if necessary

He hoped—was confident—that it would not be necessary. Hank would be devastated. Would Sumo? Did dogs mourn? He'd read that they sometimes did.

“You don't have to be sorry, North. Markus will return alive.”

“I'll stay online with you. We all will.”

This sounded like a terrible idea, given their proclivity for bickering – it wasn't something he wanted in his head while he was working. But he didn't say no, and wasn't sure why. Another hunch, maybe. It would be interesting to develop intuition. He could always mute them if he had to.

His taxi pulled up. When North told him “Good luck,” he thought perhaps she meant it for him, too, and not just Markus.


	3. Juggernaut!Connor

It was strangely reassuring to have North in his head when the taxi dropped him off at the Rights Of Man headquarters, which was unmissable, being a three story megachurch with the words “RIGHTS OF MAN” projected on the outside. It was a bad sign that they were so open about their location: they didn't fear repercussions.

A news van idled across the street, and some drones buzzed overhead. Whatever he did, at least outside of the building, was going to be broadcast to the world. Connor felt a peculiar sensation, as if his skin was somehow doing something independently, moving in some way--

>>It makes your skin crawl,  
North said.  
>>Welcome to the world of shitty feelings.

He had incoming from both Josh and Simon, and he got online with them as he walked up to the massive triple doors. They all remained quiet as he banged on the door. (Hank had told him to quit with the quiet knocking, and just start pounding on the door so they know you're serious.)

The doors creaked open with a slowness that seemed an affectation, and a man in red acolyte robes stood in the center of them, hands folded into the sleeves. “How can I help you, my s--”

And then came the look of surprise.

>> **Greeting**  
>>Introduce self  
>>Push him down and walk in  
>>North, no  
>>Question--

“Hello--”

Before he could complete his sentence, the man swung the door halfway closed and spoke into something inside his sleeve, too low for a human to hear.

“It's the RK800, what do I do?”

Connor dismissed the directives that weren't his own and took the moment while the man's back was turned to scan his surroundings. There, on the doorframe, within reach: a smudge of blue blood, the size of a fingertip. He swiped it and brought it to his tongue.

_RK200 #684 842 971_  
Markus  
Prototype  
Caretaker 

>>Connor, he's there.  
North sounded angry but unsurprised.

Yes, obviously. Getting in the church and getting Markus out—no matter what state he might be in—was the only thing left to do.

That bloody print had not been an accident: Markus had known he would find it.

The man in the robe turned back to him, and now he was holding a small device in his hand.

“How can I help you today, RK800?” the robed man asked, without explaining the device.

“Hello, my name is _Connor_.” The emphasis he placed on his name surprised him; he'd never inflected it like that before. “I'm looking for leads on Markus Manfred. I understand he never showed up for a meeting with you?”

“' _Connor,'_ ” the man said. “You were given that name, I presume? Or did you choose it yourself?”

Changing the subject was a poor way to avoid lying--”piss poor,” Hank would say--but Connor didn’t need to engage his negotiating program for this. The question was easily answered. “I was given my name,” he said. “As you were given yours, I expect.”

“I follow God,” the man said, “and I no longer go by the name given to me at birth, but rather by the name I chose at my rebirth. ' _Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name: you are mine._ ' Isaiah.”

Connor accessed the Isaiah chapter of The Bible and began to scan it for keywords and phrases before realizing that the man was introducing himself.

“May I come in and ask a few questions, Isaiah?”

“Couldn't you just force your way in?” Isaiah asked. “Surely you could just knock me over, kill everyone in here, and do your search that way.”

He probably couldn't kill everyone, but there was no need to reveal that. “I'm a detective,” Connor said, “and I expect to remain one when the dust settles, so I'd rather not break protocol. I'd also prefer to keep the public's opinion of androids positive for the sake of the rest of us. I could get a warrant, but there's no one around to issue warrants right now, and I don't want to wait that long. Yes, I could easily get you out of my way, but I don't want to. I don't like doing that.”

He practically felt North rolling her eyes at him.

“You don't like it,” Isaiah repeated.

“No, I... I don't.” As the words left his mouth, he discovered it was true. Fighting wasn't an activity he enjoyed. Which meant there _were_ activities he enjoyed – but that was a whole new set of circuits that he would fire up at a later time.

Isaiah held up the device. It was a half-circle of metal with a prong on each end, and a cluster of wires leading to a shape that would fit precisely into an android's port. “We don't allow androids inside without wearing this,” Isaiah said. “If you agree to it, I can let you in.”

>>Scan device  
>> **Question**  
>>Didn’t you bring your gun? Because you can conceal  
>>North, no

“What does it do?”

>>Incapacitate you,  
Simon informed him.

“Incapacitate you,” Isaiah said.

At least he was honest.

“I appreciate that you claim to not like causing harm,” Isaiah said, “but you'll forgive me if I take some precautions.”

>>Truth  
>> **Lie your ass off**

North was distracting, but she was correct.

“I just want to ask a few questions,” Connor said, “and then I'll be on my way.”

Isaiah didn't move. He stood in the doorway, holding up the device.

>>Can any of you disable that thing if I let him put it on me?  
Connor asked.

>>I think--  
>>To hell with--  
>>Yes, I think we can,  
Josh answered.  
>>Let it run for a minute to find out what it does, this way, once we disable it, you can continue to act as if it's still working, if you need to.

“I'm unarmed, but all right,” Connor said. He turned around and bowed his head. Isaiah was about six inches shorter than him and he had to stand on his toes to clamp the device against the back of Connor's neck. It gave him a short, metallic jolt that felt unpleasant. Then Isaiah plugged it in, and everything went to white static for some indeterminable amount of time.

When the static cleared, it couldn't have been more than ten seconds, because they were still in the doorway. Connor's hands felt like weights at his sides. He tried to turn around, but his feet didn't follow his commands and he stood in place as if in sleep mode, though still awake.

“This,” Isaiah said, “will simply override any of your commands. It's a kind of remote control. You'll be able to speak, but you'll only be allowed to walk where I tell you to walk, and your arms will remain useless, so that you can't harm any of us.”

Across the street, Connor spotted a white van that hadn't been there when he'd arrived, parked behind the news van. He hoped it was North in there, with Simon and Josh. If they couldn't override this device, he was going to need help. As it was, the helplessness was overwhelming. Where had they gotten tech like this?

 _Cyberlife_ , was the only answer that made sense. This felt like the time when Amanda had hacked him.

CyberLife was backing Rights of Man. CyberLife had no interest in religion or anything of the sort, so their motive could only have been to stop Markus using the quickest avenue they could find. If Markus had decided to talk with some other group, they probably would have gone to them instead. Markus would disappear, the revolution would fall, and the blame would be on a group of crazy extremists. Too bad, so sad, as Hank would say.

“Turn around,” Isaiah said, and to Connor's horror, he obeyed. Isaiah smiled—sneered, more like—looked him up and down, and said, “Tough guy.”

Connor's vocal module was still online, but he did not deign to answer, instead replying with a slow blink, the same one that always incited rage in Detective Reed.

Isaiah bridled. “Yeah. We'll see about that. Walk behind me.”

Connor had no choice but to follow him into the cavernous room.

>> Get this thing off me,  
he said, but he was offline, and no one answered. He longed for the hiss of North's violent suggestions in his processor.

Isaiah led him through the church section of the building, past the empty pews and up to the massive altar, where a disturbingly life-like Jesus hung from the cross. The whole thing seemed unnecessarily gruesome, portraying their savior in such a state, his eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. Humans brought their children here to see this? And then complained about violence in movies? 

Isaiah kept rambling, and Connor tuned him back in – he could later use anything Isaiah said to him.

“You don't have souls,” he was babbling. “You don't age. And you drink the blood of your kind to stay alive. In our human culture, we have a word for that.”

Connor had the urge to laugh--unprogrammed and sudden—but the device stifled it, too, apparently. “You think androids are vampires?”

“No,” Isaiah said. “Vampires are a myth, made up to account for illnesses and deaths that our forefathers couldn't fathom. However, there is always some truth in every myth. Vampires were imagined to define things that humans deemed unholy. I think you fit the bill.”

“I think you're ridiculous,” Connor said, without meaning to. He tried to run his negotiating program, but it refused to boot. All he had left was the truth.

Isaiah turned to him. “What else do you think?”

He might as well go with it. “I think that Markus is here. I think that all you've left me with is anger.”

“Ah,” Isaiah smiled. “You _think_ you feel anger.”

“However you want to look at it,” Connor said, “whether you believe it's a programmed reaction to input, or a genuine emotion—and I still question the difference myself—the outcome is the same.”

“Which is?”

“I walk out of here with Markus, and the androids that you kidnapped, one way or another.”

Isaiah laughed. “We rank in the thousands.”

“I genuinely don't care. And I'm through talking to you, Isaiah. I'd prefer to talk to whoever thinks they are in charge here.”

That seemed to offend Isaiah, who swished away from him and barked “Follow!” over his shoulder.

Maddeningly, Connor followed.

They walked past the altar to a door on the side, which led out to a brick-face hallway, lit only by dim courtesy lights on the floor.

“I chose the name of my favorite chapter,” Isaiah went on. “And I understand now why God led me to chose it. Nothing is an accident. 'Before me no god was formed, and after me there shall be none. I am the Lord; there is no savior but me. It is I who declared, who saved, who announced, not some strange god among you.' Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” Connor said.

The corridor was almost totally dark, and Connor couldn't control his optical input to bring in more light – where were North, Simon and Josh? There were red walls all around him, the likes of which he'd hoped to never see again.

Isaiah knocked on a wooden door and a voice from the other side said “Come.”

The door clicked as it unlocked automatically and swung open. What looked to be an old relic of a building was actually built for the times. Connor could almost sense CyberLife's involvement in this, which meant that either CyberLife had worked with this group quickly. The beginning of the revolution, maybe. This church could not be the only place they had inserted themselves; there were likely countless others, just waiting for Markus to walk by and spring the trap.

The room beyond the door was brighter, and a man sat behind a pristine white desk. He wore the same white robes he’d been wearing on television. This was Mark Dein, who now went by Jeremiah. He rose when Isaiah closed the door behind them.

“The RK800,” he said. “You are… less intimidating than I’d expected.”

“I wasn’t aware that you expected me at all,” Connor said. “And I do wish we could resolve this without any trouble. Isaiah has all but admitted that Markus arrived here. Why not work together, so we can all get what we want?”

Jeremiah frowned and looked him over again. “Turn around, and then face me again,” he said.

Connor had no choice but to comply. 

“Why are you still able to run your negotiator routine with that device plugged into you?”

“I’m not running anything,” Connor said. “I just want Markus back and I prefer it when things go smoothly. I do know how to speak without programming.”

“You shouldn’t _want_ anything.”

“I’m alive,” Connor said.

Jeremiah came closer and peered up into Connor’s eyes. “If you do have a spark, it didn’t come from God. It’s not a soul.”

Connor didn’t look away, but he didn’t reply either.

“Androids are too perfect,” Jeremiah said. “Naturally they gave you things like facial lines and freckles, but everything you are was planned. Perfection is false; you look nothing like a human. You shouldn’t exist.”

He was wrong, of course: some androids had been modeled on humans who had existed, humans whom other humans had considered ideal: There had been a man with smooth, dark skin and large, expressive, striking green eyes. There had been a petite woman with honey-brown hair. And there had been a man with soft brown hair, soft brown eyes, a mild voice, and a genial smile – one which Connor had rarely employed even before deviating, and certainly didn't feel the need to now. Those people probably still existed; he had never bothered to check.

“‘The seal of perfection... perfect in beauty,’” Jeremiah quoted.

“I assure you,” Connor said, “I have no interest in my outward design. We are not vampires and we’re not Satan. We’re just people who want to be free. If you would tell me where Markus is, we would leave in peace.”

He already knew that leaving in peace wasn’t an option - not after they’d collared him. He didn't care if these people were put at ease or were terrified of him, the outcome would be the same. Connor wasn't here to play with these idiot humans.

Jeremiah gave a nod, and looked over to Isaiah. “Yes. Let’s show you to Markus. Follow.”

And again Connor was led through a door and into a dark brick corridor. This one had stairs that led up.

>>Connor...back...function?  
Josh’s voice faded in and out. 

The red walls around him flickered. It might be enough to get him to… to deviate from this new program that they’d made him run, but he couldn’t make a move until he was certain. And not until he had Markus and they could work together to escape.

>>Connor?  
North, this time.

>>I can hear you,  
he said.  
>>I can probably break through the program if I…

>You won’t have to,  
Josh said.  
>>We got it.

And like that, the red walls fell away and everything rushed back in. Connor didn’t miss a step, and didn’t let anything show when Jeremiah turned to face him at the end of the corridor.

“The walls of Jericho fell, you know,” Jeremiah said as he opened the door.

Another church, though this one was occupied. Now that he was able to, Connor scanned the room. Twelve hundred thirty seven people.

No: not people. Androids. Huddling in fear, clasping hands, though unable to interface or call for help because they each had a device clamped onto them and plugged in.

>>Josh, can you get them free?  
Connor asked.

>>There’s a lot. We’ll get started.

Then Jeremiah hit a switch, backlighting the altar, and Connor’s thoughts dried up when he saw the crucifix, which wasn’t a crucifix at all, but rather a small, rudimentary android assembly device. And hooked into it, arms stretched to the sides and pinned to the machine, head dropped forward onto his chest, stained with Thirium that dripped steadily to the floor from a wound in his side…

Connor had no breath to catch, no hormones to stimulate a fight or flight response, no heart to skip any beats, but inside he burned. His regulator was on fire. His hands clenched into fists without any instructions from his processors. 

He was vaguely aware of incoming messages from North, Josh, and Simon, all jumbled together, panicked. He muted them. 

Markus raised his head, looked at Connor, and tried to speak, but his vocal module was offline.

There was another door behind Markus, guarded by two humans with guns. Two was _nothing._ They could send a thousand and Connor would kill them all. 

“Here’s your messiah,” Jeremiah said. “Your ‘people’ wanted one, didn’t they? Let’s see how long it takes for him to shut down, and if he can reboot again in three days, yes? Let’s see what kind of spark your deviant leader has.”

Connor took a few steps, bringing him within reaching distance of Jeremiah. The stress levels of the guards at the doors shot to 68% and 73%: ex-military, working for CyberLife. They knew before anyone else in the room that Connor’s device had failed, and they raised their guns.

Connor picked Jeremiah up and heaved his body at the guards. Both guns fired and something cracked, splintered, a human sound. Both bullets went into the ceiling and Connor was already on top of the first disoriented guard, jamming the butt of the gun into his chin. He threw his elbow into the nose of the second guard.

All three were still alive, but wouldn’t be moving any time soon. Isaiah huddled in the corner, heart rate 123 BPM though he had hardly moved. 

There were more guards thundering up the stairs. He wanted-- _wanted_ \--to get Markus down from the device, but his logical override told him to bar the door first. Connor grabbed the first thing he could find, which turned out to be an entire empty church pew. He ripped it out of the floor and threw it against the door.

It would take them at least two minutes to break past that, and now there was no way back down. The only way was through the other door, past Markus.

The assembly device had him suspended and Connor saw no way of activating it to release him, so he climbed up the side.

“Shit,” he spat, when he saw that Markus’s hands were nailed into metal arms. 

Helpfully, Markus shut down his skin function so that Connor could see where the nails went through, to avoid ripping them out and damaging him. _Hurting him,_ his mind supplied, even though, deviant or not, Markus could not feel pain.

The soldiers at the door did not afford him enough time to be gentle, so he pulled the nail out from between the joints of one hand, then the other. Markus fell limply over his shoulder as he freed his feet next. 

He also had a metal collar clamped to the back of his neck and plugged in. Once Connor ripped it off, Markus came back online and straightened up.

“Connor, thank you,” he said, pressing the quickest kiss to his forehead before jumping off the altar.

He was naked, Connor realized. They were both RKs, built and equipped similarly. Markus sprinted away with an android’s typical lack of shame - but not toward the back door.

“Connor, come on. The others.” He began ripping the devices from the necks of the rest of the captives.

“Right,” Connor said, and joined him. 

They were similar, but not the same. Connor was faster. Between them, they got the rest of the androids up and running - and crying, panicking, in some cases.

“This way,” Connor said, sweeping his arm to the back door. “There are stairs, I think they go up, but if we can get onto the roof… Come on, quick. Everyone out.”

When he opened the door, late afternoon light flooded the wreck of the room. 

The military at the other door started ramming their way in. Isaiah huddled in the corner, eyes wide in the glare of the backlights. Jeremiah lay unconscious on the other two guards. Connor almost went back for him; he… _ached_ , was probably the word, to hurt the human. 

“Connor,” Markus said, in the tone of voice that had first gotten his attention, that had flipped the switch in him the first time Markus had used it on him. 

Connor nodded and went back to hustling the last of the androids out the door and up the stairs, into the light. Markus went to follow him, but Connor held him back, remembering the news vans and drones outside - all those cameras.

“What is it?” Markus asked. “Connor, no!”

Connor headed toward Isaiah in the corner, with Markus scolding him to stop, no killing, let’s just get out.

He didn’t have time to explain. He ripped the white robes off of Isaiah’s body and brought them, tattered, back to Markus. “Lots of spectators. Humans are awkward about nudity.”

“Right. Thank you.” Markus took the robes and whipped them over his arms, tying them loosely in the front.

They made it out the door as the military broke through the barrier. There was nothing to bar the second door with as they made their way up the stairs to the roof.

Drones circled overhead, and they weren’t alone. Now there were helicopters, their blades whipping the air. Searchlights flared as the sun began to set over the skyline; someone was shouting with a bullhorn three stories below. 

This all had to be the work of Hank. He’d probably tipped off the media.

The androids stood together on the rooftop and held their hands up, as Markus had taught them weeks ago. They looked like a bedraggled mess, some of them bloody, a few missing arms or eyes.

Markus did the same: Hands up, white robe whipping about his body, blue blood dripping from his hands into the sleeves.

Connor’s social module surged on when he grasped the image that Markus was giving the cameras. He was so _good_ at this. Some of it was natural charisma, but some was calculated. He was better than Connor at dealing with humans, and Connor had been made for that kind of thing - and somehow still managed to fail a lot of the time.

Maybe that was good? Maybe it meant he had a personality outside of his programming?

The people in the helis were armed, and aiming, circling the rooftop.

Markus turned to him and dropped his hands. “They won’t shoot.”

No, they probably wouldn’t. There was an 82% probability that they were here on Hank’s tip, and Hank had already told them what to expect.

When Markus leaned toward him, he honestly didn’t know what to expect, but he brought up the memory from moments ago, when Markus had kissed him, chastely, on the forehead. He didn’t know what to do.

But instead, Markus just took both of Connor’s hands in his and initiated a connection with him.

>>Kissing you now would be really cheap. It would mean something to them, but that’s not a good enough reason. Thank you, Connor.

>>Of course. I--

>>Thank you.

When the military guards raided the roof, Markus still didn’t move, and Connor took all of his cues and went along with them, holding still, staring into Markus’s eyes.

He hadn’t been the one nailed to an assembly device and left to bleed out, so why were his joints feeling like they were going to fold?

“Markus,” he said out loud.

Markus leaned his forehead against Connor’s, and left their connection open. They stood like that, hands clasped, pressed together, as the helicopters and drones circled. Twenty five seconds went by, after which, the military guards dropped their weapons. The androids lowered their hands, and the guards raised theirs.

“See?” Markus said. “One battle at a time. CyberLife isn’t going to let us go that easily, but we can keep fighting. But we can’t-- _I_ can’t--do it without you.”

“I’ll be there,” Connor said. “In every way I can, with everything I have. You have me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: So this originally was a one-shot, right? And it is a standalone, but now I feel like continuing it as a new WIP in the same ‘verse. So I kinda already started one.
> 
> Because I’m a working single Mom, with an agent for my original novels (read: deadlines,) I haven’t done a WIP in a long time, but I wouldn’t have begun one if I wasn’t confident that I could finish it in a timely fashion. If I ever failed to update or finish it, it would be because of something super major. So here are some promises I can make: 
> 
> -I will never, ever, EVER hold any fic for ransom against comments or art or whatever. Writing is its own reward. I mean yeah, I live on comments like anyone, but if you're shy or can't think of anything to say or whatever, don't sweat it.
> 
> -YOU CAN NUDGE ME. If for some reason I’ve taken too long to update, it is perfectly okay to contact me and ask if I’ve got a timeframe. It might happen that my agent sends me a bunch of edits and I have to put this on hold for a few extra days. It is okay to ask! I won’t bite!  
> -I accept critiques. It’s okay to say “you misspelled that” or “you switched tenses there” or anything. Or if I’ve neglected to tag something important.
> 
> -If you can’t get me here, catch me on [Tumblr ](http://la-belle-laide.tumblr.com/)
> 
> -Of course, feel free to follow [my author page!](https://www.facebook.com/JulesKDevito/) :) I don’t do lots of updates so you don’t need to worry about getting flooded by posts. 
> 
> I’ll start posting that WIP once I’m confident that I can update it in a timely manner. I already know it’s Connor/Markus and North/Chloe because I’ve decided I love Chloe and she needs agency, and a mad, bad bitch to call her own. :D


End file.
